


Choked Fin.

by D3moira



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crime, Drama, F/M, Gang, Modern, Thriller, Urban Fantasy, Werewolf, biker, mermaid, urban thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9800375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D3moira/pseuds/D3moira
Summary: A mermaid stuck on land and a werewolf who lost their pack; both end up mixed into the underbelly of crime in a small town, with everything that goes with it. She's a brat, swears too much and cares too little. He's burdened with his past, snarky and distant.(Alternating PoV, romance heavy and dark. Mermaid & Werewolf romance, dark & explicit content and language.)





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mythos of supernatural creatures within this story is an amalgamation of different works, which will be explained as is relevant.

A bad decision is a bad decision and there's no way around it. You either lived with the mistake, or it killed you. Alia had little choice beyond forward, after Travis, after her choker, after her life. But she can't be wrapped up in the high concept problems, over abstracts.

The first real thing she needed was the truth. Travis had been a shadow over the past week, after a long stint of quietness. She was left with changed locks and a cardboard box with her shit in it. It wasn't much, a few tops, trinkets, and it wasn't all of her things.

Aside from the choker, she had some jewelry missing, and her TV. She had plenty of more expensive things she'd hoarded in a shoebox, all plucked from the shoals of the nearby bay. Fucker had kept it. God.

Alia shouldered her way into the bar, the same one she'd first met him in, the same one she'd last fought with him in. But it wasn't her fight to have; he kept at other girls even when she asked him if he really loved her, and he said he did, over and over.

_Sure he fucking did._

It's the middle of the day, quiet and empty, but she never expected much of this place. It was a front so far as she was told, though no details were known to her. Just that Travis had shown her the back rooms a few times, that she'd seen the claw marks at a few doors. She didn't care to ask.

There's an old couple in the corner, not wilted and deranged, just older. Beyond them was the assortment of Outsiders, with their patches and their cuts. There was one outlier, off on his own… Fuck. His name didn't pop into her head, but it had something to do with _Why_. She frowned at the bar, unsure who to shake down for information.

She couldn't live in a motel forever, she had to get home. He could keep the TV, the jewels. She just needed her choker back.

"Hey -- you," she exhaled, teeth bared. "You seen Travis?"

...

This bar was more than just a ‘hang out’ spot, it was a meeting ground—business meetings were often held here. Sure it was a public bar but no one just came walking in off the streets without having some sort of business with the Outsiders. The name was stupid as fuck but Wyatt hadn’t had much of a say.

He didn’t really pick this pack either, he sort of just stumbled into it. His last pack was his family, they died in a tragic fire—he went into seclusion for a while and spent a year on his own before this pack brought him in. It was better than being alone, lone wolves didn’t survive—not in this town.

Wyatt looked up as he heard the chime go off from the door opening, they weren’t expecting anyone. His eyes narrowed at the woman, he recognized her—he was one of Travis’ girls. Poor girl, didn’t know any better—what the hell was she doing here anyway?

She looked completely lost, the few members of the outsiders were eyeing her as Travis finally spoke up.

“Not since we kicked his ass out a week ago."

…

"Useless, thanks." Alia sniped sideways, a wilt to her posture as she took in the words -- he was gone with a capital _G_.

There was no use with Twitter or whatever, as  Travis had gone quiet. She had messaged him several times, Facebook, a few other apps, but he shut her out. It hurt her, sure, but she was more pissed about how fucked she was without her things. The whirl of stress remained low in her stomach, the denial her strongest ally.

Alia failed to notice the people outside of her target, the guy behind the counter with greyed hair and tawny eyes. She settled her elbows onto the countertop, a sweet smile sent his way. "Hey Andy, long time no see."

"What Wyatt said -- piece a'shit kept skimmin' funds. We look like a charity?" Andy snorted, back to work with some glasses he had on a rack. "He's gone, sweetheart. Plenty of other _fish_ in the sea."

Alia narrowed her eyes, hands bunched against the counter. "Don't do that shit -- look, you don't keep tabs or something? C'mon, you gotta have a clue where he is." She hissed, tongue pressed behind her teeth. "Just a phone number, or, I don't know, a name of whoever he's fucking now." She spat, lip sneered up. Her nails tapped away at the counter top, chipped talons near dug into the wood.

There's a pause as she looked at the guy, Wyatt, who she had only known as the the quiet guy. She didn't know what his deal was, but he always seemed like he was a _dad_ to the other boys -- like he was out to protect the stupid fucks who got too drunk and fell over outside.

…

Travis was new to the group and in the beginning he was pretty decent, doing his tasks and all but then—then he’d start blowing off payments to the money he owed and asking for advancements. Finally they had to cut him loose, of course Travis was pissed but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He totally fell off the grid, it was probably smart too—if he showed his face around here one of the guys would surely rough him up for the cash.

"He ain’t gonna be anywhere near us, not unless he’s stupid.” Wyatt said taking another long swig of his beer. The woman looked pissed off, maybe he had stolen cash from her too or cheated. “You’re better off without him anyway.” Wyatt said with a small smirk tugging on his lips.

This girl was gorgeous, she must have been blind to have slummed around with Travis.

…

Alia exhaled low and quiet, eyes shut tight as she was offered not a single scrap of information. She had a job at a candle store, one of those decorative places that humans went wild for. She enjoyed the novelty of it, all the fire, but there was the very real concern of rent, and a place to live, and what the fuck she was going to do on the surface with no sponsor.

Rather than storm out as she so badly wanted to do, she hopped up onto the bar stool. She had to yank at the cardigan draped over her, more of a portable blanket than clothes. She scrunched up on the seat, arms slumped against the counter as she pouted at the opposite wall. "I need my shit back, then he can do whatever the hell he wants," she croaked, anger low in her stomach.

"He took all my jewelry, God, I was at work to get our rent covered, and he pulls this shit on me. I'm not on the lease so he can fuck himself." She added as an afterthought. She narrowed her eyes at him when he said she was better off -- the smirk didn't go unnoticed.

"Whatever's cheapest," she said in a vacant tone, a shuffle of notes and coins sounded from her pocket. She fished out a few dollar bills, though she continued to dig for the change.

…

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t in it to get her boyfriend back. She just wanted her things back—all that seemed fair. He’d be pissed if someone took his shit, hell—he had someone steal from him before and the man wound up in the hospital the next day.

“Yeah, he’s a fucking prick.” Wyatt picked up his glass, a pensieve swirl to the liquor before he downed it. He watched as she ordered a drink, a quiet scoff escaped his lips. He looked at the bartender, Andy. They bore the same patches, a wolf framed with moons, each a different phase.

The paired patches endured an understanding.

“Get what you want, ’s on the house.” Wyatt waved his hand as Andy poured her a shot. The club was lax with booze, at least when it came to its members and girls. The favor was repaid in kind, as Wyatt would pour the liquor for his brothers all the same.

“Put your money away.” Wyatt insisted.

…

The fire with which Alia had entered had fizzled out. She had spent the past few days at work with her cardboard box tucked away at her rundown motel room -- but she figured he'd take her back. Maybe he needed space or something. Maybe he'd fucked up. She didn't know, all she got was one call where he'd told her to get lost. He hadn't gone back to their house, and she had no clue where he'd gone to.

"I don't know -- uh, just, a beer." She narrowed her eyes at Wyatt, her nails back against the counter top. This bar wasn't a place to dance and have fun; she hadn't known that her first time here, when she'd only been on land a few weeks. She still thought humans were cute then, with their cigarettes and dancing.

"A drink on the house? Really?" She tossed him a look, accusation clear in her eyes. She wasn't here to pick up and she wasn't here to be offered a pity fuck. She’d have that already if that was here goal. Maybe he was the sort to save people, or maybe he was a creep like the rest. She'd accept the drink and scoot on out, and onto the next lead... Which was only their house.

Or, her old house.

"What do you _want_?" She asked, plain voiced and direct.

…

“’s jus’ a drink, ain’t askin’ you to marry me or nothin’." He said with a laugh before holding up his hands in defense. With that Andy nearly snorted beer out of his nose—slapping the table before getting up to go talk to some of the other men across the bar.

Wyatt looked over his shoulder for a moment, he wasn’t supposed to take matters into his own hands but that bastard owed him a shit ton of money—he had no idea where the man lived and he was sure she had that sort of information.

“Last known address, that’s all ‘m askin for.” Wyatt said before shifting his gaze back over to her.

…

Alia scoffed at the thought of a marriage proposal, her skin in motion as if she'd had bugs crawl across her. She focused on the beer instead, her hand against the glass though she didn't drink. She had seen Travis deal, albeit messily. He was aggressive and loud, with as much subtlety as a seagull.

"Oh -- is _that_ all?" Alia rolled her eyes, mouth cocked open with another scoff. She let the glass sit, her hand framed on the chair beneath her. She examined the blonde beside her, uncertain of his arrangement. "One beer and I give you information? Seems unfair," she sniped back, her nail in motion against the rim of the glass.

"Let's start with names -- I'm Alia." She sucked the beer from her nail, the taste no better for all the times she'd had it. She pointed at him, eyes narrowed.

"Why do you want his address?"

…

He wanted to roll his eyes, it took everything he had to contain himself. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he downed the rest of his drink, pushing the empty glass across the table from him so Andy could refill it.

“Then what the hell do ya want _princess_?" He asked, not having a clue as to what the girl would want from him. Money maybe, she seemed to need it—all she seemed to have was a couple dollar bills in her purse. Or maybe they could do a trade, she helped him and then he could help her with Travis.

“Wyatt." He said finally, “‘cuz TravASS owes me money.”

…

Alia _did_ roll her eyes when Wyatt called her 'princess'. She had learned to accept pet names, though certain words caused a visceral response. She rolled her shoulders back, as if to let the words pass over her. "I want a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure you can't help with any of that." She wanted to be able to return to her family and she wanted a room beyond her bedroom.

"I need my jewelry back before he pawns it all off. I don't even fucking know why he's so goddamn desperate for cash now, but I'm just -- " She shifted again and again, the roils of anger back through her core. "If he has sold it all off? I'm gonna kill him." She downed the beer, aware how dangerous it was to say such words.

"So you're gonna go to his place, get some stuff to make up the difference?" She asked, a brow raised. "Because he's not there, but his shit probably is."

…

He figured she was being sarcastic but maybe she didn’t know? “That’s what happens when you get mixed up in coke I guess." He said with a roll of his shoulders. Sure he sold drugs but the worst he did was smoke weed, he knew a lot of the other members in his pack did worse but to each their own.

A small smile tugged on his lips as he could do a whole lot of damage as a last fuck you to the guy and maybe see if he had any cash. “Yeah pretty much, just want my money back—or somethin’ of equal value." He decided he’d settle for that.

…

As naive as it sounded, Alia hadn't known much of the surface world. She'd thumbed through the leaflets they handed out, the quick rundown of the differences, dress codes, vocabulary, but she'd grown up with enough information. Or so she'd thought. Her first few weeks had been a dream, between a little white dust and a needle full of warmth.

Alia had her head between her hands, her beer so far untouched. She had only used it when Travis had, but it made sense that he'd gone beyond her. She hadn't known all the shitty stuff that happened to you afterwards, she'd thought it was normal.

Or she deluded herself.

"I can take you there. It's in the lower west side, shitty neighbourhood." She sighed, a slug of the beer enough to soothe her nerves. It was her own fault for the weakness she'd shown in those first few months, when she'd gone along with Travis because he was -- she couldn't even pick it. He was just there for her, with a place to keep her shit.

"The TV was mine, and the jewelry, but everything else is free game. Yeah?"

…

He perked up at her offer, clearly she didn’t give a fuck about the dude if she’d willingly bring him there. He was going to fuck that place up, fuck that guy. He not only stole from him but from a couple of his ‘brothers’ and he was going to make the man pay.

“Shit, finish your beer and we can go now if ya want." He said, he had nothing better to do today as it was his day off. He’d be fair, only take what was owed to him—he wasn’t a thief after all as he went by a code.

…

Alia had no faith in her ability to break into the house, but Wyatt was part of Travis' old gang. They'd splintered him off because he was a waste of space, and for that she could feel nothing but pity. She wanted what was owed to her so she could get her choice back, to return to the sea or to stay on land by choice.

"There's so much though," she pouted, only to knock back as much as she could manage. It was easy for her to down a drink in one shot, her body more naturally inclined for such an action. It only got bad when she tried to run or got out of breath -- asthma sucked.

Alia looked over him, eyes narrowed as she took him in. Fuck. She hadn't seen much of him, and she'd really not seen him when she'd first gotten into town. Maybe she'd still have her choker and her money, and maybe her coked out ex wouldn't have such sway over her.

"You gonna break in then?" She asked, her voice in a conspiratorial tone.

…

“Quit complainin’, better not waste any." He said before moving to stand up and pulling on his leather jacket. He waited for her to finish up her drink before looking around the bar once more. He figured the guys would just assume he was taking her back to his place, he didn’t really give a fuck what they thought right now but hey—he wasn’t going to correct them either.

Gary offered a loud whistle, clapping his hands but Wyatt ignored them, leaning in so he could speak to Alia, " How else are we gonna get in the house?" He asked with a small smirk curling on his lips. It wasn’t like the door would just be left open for the two of them.

…

Alia wasn't one to waste a drink, not when it was free. She yanked at the edge of her cardigan, to keep it over her shoulder. She wasn't as much of a light weight as she had been before, but there were a definite swirl to her head. Her head bounced down and back in response to his lean, her gaze fixed to his face as he smirked. She got it, the kind of guy he was. But she had to trust in the greed that lay in his stomach, that he wanted the money more than he wanted anything else.

"I figured we'd ask real nice. Worked good last time I tried it," she snapped back, brow raised up at him as she hooked her arm around his. "We need an alibi right? Is that how this goes?" She asked, her voice confident despite how nervous she felt. She shot him a pointed look, only after she'd eyed off the other leather clad losers in this place.

"You got a ride or what?"

…

He had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to keep himself from laughing as she said they needed an alibi. If he lived in a shitty neighborhood no one would fucking care that they were breaking in. But he’d humor her, he’d come up with some backstory and code names and the works.

“Yeah ‘course, ‘course we got an alibi." He said before throwing up his hands in the air. “See you’re his wife, I’m his brother—he knocked you up and skipped town and we’re tryin’ to find him to let him know you’re namin’ the baby after him and you want him back in your life, your name will be Alice, I’ll be Frank." He said the smirk on his lips only growing.

“‘course I gotta ride, does it look like I take the fucking bus?" He asked before pushing open the door.

…

"That's not a fucking alibi, that's a cover story -- God," Alia growled, not sure she'd snatched the right crim for the job. She had wanted to break into the home several times, but if she got caught out by the cops she'd be in serious trouble. It'd go back to the internal affairs of supernatural liaison whatever, and they'd force her back under the water. With or without the choker, seeing as that wasn't the most legal magic ever.

"Wait, are you saying I look pregnant?" She added as an afterthought, brows furrowed at the mere suggestion. She caught her reflection as they walked in some large windows, a few strange poses struck as she tried to check for her silhouette. There were racks of bikes outside, all clustered with no order. There was a set perimeter around several bikes, which she could see the Outsiders sigil on.

"Gross, I hate bikes," she scowled.

…

“Nah don’t worry you’re only eight weeks.” Wyatt said, continuing on with the story. “Lucky for you, your mama barely showed when she was pregnant with you—all the weight went straight to her belly and she lost it quick! Good genes I guess." He said with a quiet laugh as he moved to swing his lay over his bike.

Most women were thrilled when they found out he had a bike but of course she was probably the type to worry about getting her hair messy. “Oh well." He said, offering out his helmet to her.

…

"Yeah, while you're cracking the lock, I can tell the neighbours all about my good genes." Alia stood with her hip cocked to one side, nose scrunched at the thought of a bike. She always had the worst trouble breathing on them, her mouth refused to stay open. She'd swooned a few times with Travis, and near fallen off once. She didn't like the proximity of them or the speed. She preferred to walk.

But she needed his help, and this was the fastest way to get it. She accepted the helmet, and tucked her hair away with ease. It was only a shoulder length hairdo, natural in its waves and curls. It'd been longer before, but Travis thought it'd be cute short. She worked out he just had a thing for short hair, given the girls she'd see him with.

"So ready t'be done with this jackass." She muttered, her arms fixed around his waist as she tucked herself against him. At least she had jeans on, though the knees were busted out. "Giddy up, Wy."

…

“Good, we’ll both get our shit and be done with ‘em." He said before he started the bike. They headed towards the west side of town, away from the coast. Wyatt’s driving could be described in one word, reckless. He was zipping down the highway, in and out of cars but completely relaxed as he did so. The cops didn’t bother to pull any of the Outsiders over—they practically owned the cops in this town.

Once they got to the other side of town he pulled over at a dip in the road. He looked back over his shoulder to the blonde behind him. “Alright, ‘m gonna need directions now." He told her.

…

Alia was used to a bike, and for that she was thankful. There was more finesse here though, she could feel it in the sway of the bike. It didn't stutter or grind when he shifted gears, but he drove with the same self-assurance as the others. She hadn't meant to get wrapped up in stupid gang shit, but she had. It was all on her.

Her face remained tucked down and away for most of the ride, all until they hit a slower strip of road. "S'across from the lot -- the one that used to be a McDonalds? Corner house. Just take a left," she added, a squeeze to his left leg to reaffirm her point. She looked around at the familiar houses, the same garbage in the yards, the same stray dogs in motion around the streets.

There was no beach here, no water. The ocean was in the opposite direction, and she should have taken that for the warning that it was.

…

Wyatt used to go to that McDonalds all the time as a kid. Cheap food and cheap toys, but it wasn't somewhere he'd go now. If he was high, sure, or too drunk to care. The corner of his mouth tweaked out of recognition, though he nodded for her sake.

“S'shitty neighborhood alright." He set off down the road once more, a left, a right, all until they were at the intersection. There was an open driveway with a front patio, though there was no furniture. No cars, no bike, nothing.

He patted her on the leg, to get her off the bike. “Act natural, act like you belong here." He sgave her a smile. If they acted like they lived here, it'd seem like they'd gotten locked out. No one would be the wiser. No cops, no bullshit.

To top it all off, there was a fucking window open, score. It was too small for him to get through but you better bet your ass he’d hoist her into it.

…

Alia had little to offer in the way of muscle. If she was left to her own devices she could invoke rituals, but they weren't hard and fast. She had wished darkness upon Travis, but that could come in multiple forms and guises. She couldn't do anything real and tangible unless she did so with her hands, at his throat or at his goods.

She followed in step as he smiled at her, her own smile returned out of habit. She refocused on the task at hand, a nod offered as she kept in step. The kitchen always had a popped open window because of the smell, and to help keep the weird growths on the ceiling at bay.

"Get me up," she nudged his hip with hers, her back faced to him. "We get in, I'm gonna go through the bedroom, you do what you gotta do."

…

“Yes m’am." He said but he eyed her for a moment. She seemed eager, though he hadn’t worked with her before. The enthusiasm could wear off once she realized this was a crime. “Open the front door, you better not change your mind once you’re in there." He said and he picked her up with ease. He hoisted her up to the window, and held her weight until she was able to crawl through.

  
Once her feet vanished, he heard the sound of her impact. It’s in the smash of plates and the curse words she let loose. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was really paying attention before walked to the front door, leaning up against the wall and waiting for her to open up the door for him.


End file.
